


Visionary

by simplescribe



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Captivity, F/M, Polygamy, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-17 09:23:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10591086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplescribe/pseuds/simplescribe
Summary: Slowly, she noticed a general quieting of the crowd. The milling about ceased, and everyone turned towards the front of the truck, looking at someone walking there. The crunch-crunch-crunch of slow footsteps echoed as a tall, broad-chested man stepped towards the line, the moustached man from earlier following behind and to his right. The man wore dark jeans and a clean, white cotton shirt. He held a wooden bat loosely in one hand, the end of which was wrapped tightly with barbed wire. Emily swore she could see dark stains there, though as he came closer, the bat looked clean and relatively plain. She swallowed hard, eyes flicking nervously to everyone, anyone else around her, but they all seemed entranced by the man, the ones with guns radiating a strange sort of respect. Emily just stared hard into the gravel, unable to look at the man- it was like staring into the sun.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> https://simple-scribe.tumblr.com

"Hey!" a voice barked suddenly, startling the girl crouching behind the counter of an abandoned gas station. Her eyes flicked to one side as she froze in place, seeing her companion, one of her group members, slowly raise their hands into the air, palms flat.

" _Thaaat's_ it." the voice crooned, the speaker out of view. She could feel her stomach sinking into the floor. Her group- they'd been out here for weeks, the dead having run them out of their previous camp. They'd fled with their lives and a few possessions, and became drifters, scavenging what they could, going hungry when they couldn't. Slowly, their numbers dwindled. The weak fell, or were left behind. She wasn't proud of the things they'd done, but she understood the necessity of it. There were only five of them left now, two females, and three males, including her. Paul, their unofficial leader, and his brother Josh, had been with her since the start. She was closer to them by far- the others were nearly strangers to her.

Her legs were cramping, but she stayed crouching, turning and pressing herself into the side of the counter, hoping to remain unseen. Josh's eyes flicked to her, and then away, hands still held up to either side. The silence stretched thickly, broken only by the sound of hard boots crunching on glass, slowly stepping closer to where she hid. Heart pounding, she gripped the hilt of her knife where it lay at her hip, her mind racing beyond rationality, the logical part whispering _They have a gun,_ barely heard. Suddenly, a man turned the corner sharply, pointing a huge-looking pistol at her, the muzzle of which locked on to her low position before she had even fully drawn her blade. The man smiled down at her, dead eyes glittering. He was dressed plainly, with clean, dark jeans, and a grey t-shirt. He had a moustache curling down either sides of his mouth, unkempt hair, and a receding hairline.

"Ah, ah, ah..." he drew the hammer of his pistol down dramatically, other hand raising to make a little _come hither_ motion, "Slide that knife over here nice and slow." She watched helplessly as another rough looking, darkly dressed man stepped into view behind, forcing Josh to his knees, searching him for weapons. The girl drew her knife slowly, sliding it across the floor, all while trying to hide the fearful trembling of her limbs. The stranger holstered his gun and grabbed her, hoisting her up and zip tying her hands behind her back. "What's your name, sweet cheeks?" he asked, grinning, as they made their way outside. Her brain registered his slight accent for the first time. _How far south had they ranged?_ she wondered idly. Hesitantly, she murmured a reply.

"Emily." He pursed his lips, eyebrows raising in a "huh" motion, before returning to cold indifference.

She was pushed roughly out of the gas station, to a patch of grass beside the road, and made to kneel in a line of her companions. The moustached man who had collected her stood in front as the last person was placed in line, thumbs stuck into his belt loops, surveying the kneeling prisoners with a pleasant air of nonchalance. He paused, looking up and down the line, while insects chirped in the background. "So." his confident voice cut through the silence like a knife. "Which one of you is the leader?" Everyone exchanged worried glances, eyes flicking to Paul, then away, anywhere else, trying not to give him away. With a sigh, however, Paul turned his face up towards the man.

"I'm the leader." he said calmly, impressing Emily. _Leader_ was a bit of a stretch, but she supposed he did direct most day's raids, and was the one people turned to when they had a problem. "Please," he was saying, "We can make a deal. We can work this out. Just tell us wh-" _BAM._ Red mist. Bits of bone and brain sprayed out from the sizeable hole in Paul's skull, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head while he slumped forward awkwardly, his blood pouring out in a thick gush and soaking the dry grass. The grey shirted man lowered his gun slowly, watching the others closely.

"Sorry about that." he said into the shocked silence. "Just a little something we do when making new acquaintances." He smiled, holstering the pistol. "Usually I'd give you the whole speech about who we are and what just happened, but..." he checked his wristwatch. "We're running late. Didn't expect to run into anyone around here. So we're just gonna pack you up, and fill you in when we get home." He clapped his hands, and someone stepped up behind Emily, drawing a dark cloth hood over her face, gripping her arms painfully tight and raising her to her feet. She was pushed along and hoisted into the back of some sort of truck, hopefully along with the others. The thing revved to life loudly- it had been _so_ long since they'd had a working vehicle- and soon they were rumbling down the dirt road, to places unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

It was awhile before the truck stopped completely, the noisome engine finally cutting into silence while footsteps and low voices flitted around Emily's perception. She heard a dull _thump,_ what sounded like Josh grunting, and some male laughter. Emily gritted her teeth as she was gripped again and hoisted out of the back of the truck, nearly stumbling in her blindness, but whoever held her saved her the embarrassment with their strong arm. She landed on her feet in a cloud of dry dust, gravel crunching beneath her as she was moved again into a kneeling line. The hood was removed in a blinding flash of sunlight, and it took a moment of furious blinking before Emily was able to take in her surroundings. It was hard to see much with the huge transport truck parked right in front of them, but she could see chain-link fence running all around, a manned gate in the distance behind the truck, and a looming concrete structure behind them. Then, the _people._ More people than Emily had seen in one place since the end, and her heart leapt despite the overwhelming fear. Every one of them carried multiple weapons- each a knife, pistol, and machine or shotgun.

A quick glance told her there were more kneeling in line than just the five of her group, she saw four others interspersed in the line, strangers who looked just as scared as her. Josh was to her left, looking blank and distant, blood spatter staining his dirty shirt. On her right was an older man, a stranger, who was actively crying. Emily wondered why he was so worried- _they wouldn't've brought us here just to kill us-_ but then she saw the spray of fresh blood across the man's dirty clothing, and remembered the surprised look on Paul's face as he fell. Looking down, she noticed for the first time that she was covered in tiny red droplets too. A bit of something with short brown hairs sticking out of it rested on her shoulder.

Slowly, she noticed a general quieting of the crowd. The milling about ceased, and everyone turned towards the front of the truck, looking at someone walking there. The _crunch-crunch-crunch_ of slow footsteps echoed as a tall, broad-chested man stepped towards the line, the moustached man from earlier following behind and to his right. The man wore dark jeans and a clean, white cotton shirt. He held a wooden bat loosely in one hand, the end of which was wrapped tightly with barbed wire. Emily swore she could see dark stains there, though as he came closer, the bat looked clean and relatively plain. She swallowed hard, eyes flicking nervously to everyone, anyone else around her, but they all seemed entranced by the man, the ones with guns radiating a strange sort of respect. Emily just stared hard into the gravel, unable to look at the man- it was like staring into the sun.

"Ho-ly _shit!_ " he barked, "You guys look seriously shitty. Simon, where the fuck did you find these people, the fucking dump?" Simon, the moustached man from earlier, smiled and said nothing, while the apparent leader turned to address the prisoners. "Hi." he grinned, "I'm Negan." He ran a hand down the length of the bat, holding it straight out in front of him. "Now, normally, I'd introduce Lucille here with a bit of a bang-" He swung the bat sharply, making a few of those kneeling flinch, Emily included. "But all that fucking red confetti tells me you've already gotten a crash course on your new life here. In case you missed anything the first time, allow me to make it crystal-fucking-clear to you: You belong to me now. You work for me, you follow the rules. The rules are simple," he held out a hand on which to count, "One. You follow orders. Most specifically _my_ orders, but also the orders of those I put my trust in." He looked fondly at Simon behind him. "Two, having some fucking decency. You don't rape, you don't steal, you don't kill anyone I haven't told you to kill." He grinned, pausing. "Pretty simple, right? You do this, and it's smooth fucking sailing from here on. If you don't..." The smile vanished, his eyes growing dark, "I can guaran-fuckin-tee you a swift, and brutal punishment." He let that sink in for awhile, the old man beside Emily shaking visibly, small mousy noises escaping his lips every now and then, until he clamped a hand over it.

Negan walked slowly to one end of the line, inspecting each person critically, assigning each newcomer a designation of some sort. "Worker, worker, worker..." he called in a bored tone as he made his way down the line. Men with guns grabbed each person up as he finished, dragging them off somewhere. Negan paused in front of the man beside Emily, looking down incredulously at the whimpering mess. "Good God, how the fuck are you still alive? You're old as shit, dude! And what's with the fucking waterworks?" He gave a disgusted grimace, "Put him on the wall," and moved on to Emily.

She could feel her mouth go dry, time slowing painfully as he regarded her, kneeling in the dirt. The moment stretched forever, until he called, "Worker," turning his attention to Josh beside her. Emily let out a shaking breath as quietly as possible, feeling lightheaded. Hands reached out and grabbed her arms from behind, lifting her to her feet and tugging her away from the line, away from Josh. She wanted to stay with him, but they were shoving her along, she was losing sight of him, and could only hear Negan's words behind her, "Man, you look fucking pissed. What crawled up your ass and died?" The rest was barely audible as Emily was lead towards the entrance of the concrete monolith of a building. "...put him in a room..." The sounds outside were effectively silenced as the building's door shut behind them, an armed woman leading the way, with Emily and her male handler behind. Ahead she saw the others who had been designated "workers", and the blubbering man. They were led down twisting hallways, past others who only glanced up at them, then away. The old man broke off from the rest at one point and was led away down a different hall, pleading in vain to his uncaring handlers.

They came to a large area with dozens of people milling about. None of these were armed, and looked ragged and thin compared to the gun-toting crowd outside. Emily was pushed roughly through the crowd, arriving at a small stall, where an older woman sat at a table, writing something down in a black book. She glanced up as they approached. Emily had lost track of the others from the line up, they and their handlers had dispersed in different directions once they hit the crowd. The man holding her sliced the bindings on Emily's wrists with his knife, and gave her a rough shove towards the seated woman, who heaved an annoyed sigh and set her book aside, standing.

"Another one?" she complained loudly to the handler, "Christ, this is my third one this month. The fuck am I supposed to do with her?" The handler scowled, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't care." he said in a rumbling baritone, "She's your responsibility." He promptly turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Emily alone with the woman. She was looking Emily up and down with a critical eye, hands on her hips.

"I'm Marge. So, what can you do?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

"Uh... do?" Emily asked quietly.

"Yeah, do. You know how to make anything? Can you sew? Knit? Ever kept an inventory?"

"I can sew, a little."

The woman just tsked and led Emily to a side table, pulling a weathered tackle box from beneath, and a stack of old clothing. The box contained basic white or black threads, and a dozen needles. "I'll be counting those after." she said, giving Emily a pointed look. The two stared at one another for a moment, before the woman nodded curtly and returned to her ledger, furiously scribbling away while people periodically came to give her things, or take them away.

Emily went to bed that night, on the dusty concrete floor, with a thin blanket, in a room with five other people. Her fingers hurt from pricking herself with the needle so many times. Marge seemed unhappy with her progress even though she had mended two tall stacks of clothing. Her thoughts drifted to Josh, and what sort of 'room' he was in right now, before falling into a restless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks in, and Emily had settled in rather nicely. She spent her days doing various tasks for Marge, some cleaning, lots of sewing, and general fetch/carry tasks around the Sanctuary, where workers like her were allowed to go at least. She hadn't really gotten close to anyone, even the people she slept next to changed every few days, and there wasn't a lot of time for socializing. All the workers were kept very busy, with breaks only for breakfast in the morning after waking up, and a dinner at sundown. Emily ate a cup of plain oats in the morning, and plain rice at night. Glancing over at Marge's bowl, she noticed bits of cooked vegetables, but Marge just shrugged and said something about seniority.

It was a typical day, Emily working hard mending some clothing, Marge working the ledger as people came and went, when a hand on her shoulder jumped Emily from her thoughts. Marge had come over with a dark black leather jacket in her hands, and set it on the table before Emily.

"Stop what you're doing, I need this one fixed quick." She showed Emily a sizeable tear near the cuff, and another in the lining inside the jacket. Emily stifled a sigh and nodded, but Marge was already hurrying back to her spot, the line up to her table growing by the minute. Emily finished the stitch she was in the middle of and set the garment aside, getting to work on the jacket. It was tough, punching through the thick leather was nearly impossible, even with her largest needle. She soldiered on, and had the two tears fixed up within a few hours. Glancing over, she noticed Marge's line was just as lengthy as earlier. She stood, stretching, and brought the jacket over to the woman, to show her.

Marge barely noticed Emily approach, she was busily scribbling down some numbers in the ledger and handing off a jar of preserves to a thin-looking man. "It's done." Emily said after a moment, holding up the jacket. Marge held up a hand to the impatient woman who was next in line, and swivelled in her chair to inspect the jacket.

"Good, this is good." she was saying, turning the dark leather over in her hands. Then, she glanced up at the line, back down to the jacket, and back to Emily. She chewed her lip a bit, looking distant, before sighing. "Fuck it. I need you to take this up to the second floor." The second floor was where the Saviours lived- the gun-toting non-workers who risked their lives fighting the dead outside the complex. Emily had never been up any floor- workers stayed on ground level in most cases. Marge noticed her distressed look. "Just go to the stairs, and when you meet the guards, tell them Marge sent you to give Simon his jacket." Emily's blood cooled at the memory of the man who'd taken her group in, and killed Paul. She said nothing, however, just nodded, taking the jacket back and making her way through the crowd.

As she approached the stairs, she noticed a large group of armed men milling about, more than she was used to seeing in one place since her arrival. They were clustered around someone, speaking in low voices, but didn't seem to notice her approach, so she caught a bit at the end. "Take B group and check the south road, I want this ducking orange situation cleared up pronto, ya hear?" The men turned as Emily approached, about half of them breaking off and walking away, leaving just a few behind, Simon among them. His eyebrows shot up as he recognized her, a wide smile breaking across his face.

"Well, well," he said, "Long time no see. Settling in okay?" His eyes glittered like ice. Emily felt her stomach twist, remembering washing Paul's dried blood off her skin with a dirty rag. Her throat closed reflexively, so she just held out the leather jacket, mute. "Oh, shit." he said after a moment's confusion. "Right, I gave this to Marge." Emily was ready to leave as soon as he took it, but he stopped her. "Here, let me write up a little bonus for doing such a good job." He took out a little note pad and scribbled something onto it, then pressed it into her hand with an affectionate pat. "Give that to Marge." Emily was bewildered, but nodded, eager to leave.

On the way back downstairs, Emily uncurled the paper Simon had given her. It had the number 500 written on it, and what she assumed to be Simon's signature. Emily's brow knitted together, puzzling out the situation, but she thought she had it mostly worked out by the time she approached Marge's table, anger bubbling in her stomach.

She slammed the piece of paper down on the table, startling Marge. "What the fuck is this?" Emily continued in a barely restrained whisper, "Have you been profiting off my work?" Marge just looked annoyed, leaning back in her chair to regard Emily.

"Took you long enough to figure it out." she said after a long pause. Emily's indignation must've shown on her face, because Marge made a dismissive shoo motion towards her, "Welcome to the real world, honey. Ain't nothing here for free. You make something, you fix something, you bring it here and turn it in for points." Her fingers thrummed on the black ledger, taking in Emily's furious glare with a bored expression. "Fine. From now on, you can come to my table when you need a job, like everyone else. Start paying for your own food, too." She sniffed, and looked to the window at the fading afternoon light. "Better hurry, if you wanna make enough by dinner time."

Emily worked carrying crates and other supplies for the rest of the day, barely earning enough points for her cup of plain rice. Fetch and carry was one of the lowest paying jobs, it seemed, but without Marge's sewing supplies, there weren't a lot of options. She went to sleep on the floor that night with nothing but her clothes for warmth, resolving to work hard enough tomorrow to buy a blanket.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning was pretty painful, having no points with which to purchase breakfast, she got an early start on the day instead. It was just about noon, she was taking a break at the water barrel, when a pair of armed men shouted something about a gathering in the main hall, and that everyone was expected to attend. Emily didn't know where that was, but other workers around her were stopping what they were doing and moving in the same general direction, so she just went along with them. They made their way to a large, open area with metal catwalks on one side, charred black furnaces on the other. A lot of people had gathered already, so Emily had a hard time seeing what was going on in the centre, but after some jostling she could see there were a few darkly-dressed Saviours standing around a man tied firmly to a metal chair.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for something, as more and more workers piled into the room. A hand seized Emily by the shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin, turning to see Marge's scowling face. "There you are." She was panting, out of breath, "Do exactly as I do and for God's sake don't draw attention to yourself, or it'll be my ass on the line." Emily wanted to ask a question, but a scrape of metal on metal sent a ripple of silence through the whispering crowd, the noise dying down to nothing as everyone's faces turned up towards the catwalk above. Emily had inadvertently gotten a good position, close to the cold furnaces, and watched as Negan stepped into the room from the doorway above, before Marge's hand shot out and grabbed her tightly by the shoulder, forcing her to the ground as the assembled crowd did the same. Everyone kneeled in complete silence, faces respectfully downturned, but Emily turned her head a little after a moment, spying Negan out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning against the railing, bat in hand, regarding the kneeling crowd with a grim satisfaction. "Rise." he called, and the crowd stood again.

He seemed to be considering his words, turning his bat over in his hands. "Some of you know why we're here today," he began, "And some of you don't. It's been a long time since I've had to do something like this, and let me tell you, I'm not fucking happy about it." He paused, grinding his jaw before continuing. "The only reason we're all even fucking here right now is because _rules keep us alive,_ and I'm sad to report that someone among us has straight-up fucked the rules right out the window." He began a slow descent down the metal staircase. "Shit's about to get pretty fucked," he said, "But there is a debt that needs paying, and we're gonna pay it, right now, together." Negan reached ground level, and one of the armed men stepped up to give him a thick welder's glove.

The man in the chair was shaking violently, Emily thought he might even be weeping a little, but he hid behind lanky, dirty-blonde strands of hair. "Jesus," Negan said as he approached, "Calm the fuck down, D. You'll take your punishment, and Carson'll fix you right up after, right Doc?" He looked at a man in a white coat, who wore a grim expression and said nothing. Negan just smiled and gave a slow shrug of his shoulders, motioning one of the men over. The man carried a black metal iron in metal forceps, the thing was orange-hot on the bottom, little waves of visible heat distortion coming off of it, even at this distance.

The crowd seemed to be holding their breath, most people having pieced together what was about to happen, Emily included. She cast her eyes to the side as Negan gripped the iron in his gloved hand, staring hard at the ground as the screaming began, a terrible hot-sizzling sound echoing and the smell of cooked meat filling the room. Emily felt disgusted as her stomach growled, not having eaten anything today, and no meat for longer than she could remember. She took an involuntary step towards the door, but Marge's hand was on her arm in a flash. She gave Emily a curt shake of the head, hardened face staring straight at the spectacle. Emily followed her gaze unintentionally, Negan was handing back the steaming iron, the man in the chair was slumped over but shaking violently, strands of his hair melted into the dark red, bubbling burn that covered half of his face. Negan turned back around and squatted down to get a better look. He snapped his fingers in the man's face, causing him to flinch back blearily. "You're still fucking conscious?" He boomed, laughing. "Fuck! That's some hard ass shit right there." He motioned the doctor over, straightening up with a sigh. "Well, that's over." He looked over the crowd, then stamped a foot. "Dismissed."

The crowd dispersed quickly, most people eager to return to their work for the day. Emily was jostled along with the mob, moving slowly towards the exit, when she saw a familiar face amongst the Saviours milling about while the doctor tended the burned man. It was Josh, scowling, holding a machine gun loosely. Emily tried to call to him, waving an arm, but he didn't notice. Emily fought against the crowd for awhile, trying to make her way to him, but gave up as he left with the others out the opposite door.


	5. Chapter 5

Emily made it her mission to find Josh after that, rushing through her daily tasks, accepting any extra jobs that might take her upstairs or near the entrances where she would be more likely to meet him. It was weeks later, when she was delivering a box of assorted foodstuffs to an upstairs room, that she finally crossed paths with him. He was walking down the hall, having just exited a room, and started visibly as their eyes met and he recognized her.

"Uh, hey." He said awkwardly, shuffling his feet. Emily just stared for a moment, unsure what to say. She wanted to ask him what had happened, why he was working for the people who'd shot Paul in the head, but dismissed the notion. It was the same reason she was- there weren't a lot of other options.

Instead, she just asked, "Are you okay?" He seemed startled by the question, looking her up and down, her thin frame, her dirty clothing, as if to say _Me?_ Emily just shrugged and hefted the box on one hip. Footsteps echoed from the stairwell, and Josh seized her by the shoulders, staring urgently down at her.

"I have to go, they're sending me to an outpost. It'll just be for a couple months. When I get back, I'll try and help you. I'm sorry, Em." He finished lamely, then pushed her aside and strode quickly down the hall.

~~~

Emily lay down to sleep late that night, her mind was restless, replaying the few words she'd shared with Josh over and over. She fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamed she was chasing Josh across a grey field, but he just moved farther away, while she stayed in place. The dream shifted; she was flying high above a small complex with a huge satellite dish in the back, armed people going in and out of the entrance. Loud gunshots echoed from behind her, and she turned to see their source, suddenly finding herself in a dark hallway smeared with blood. She passed dead body after dead body, all of them heavily armed men and women, like the Saviours. Emily began to run, blowing past each dead body in an endless hall, until she came finally to Josh's limp form, blood dribbling out the corner of his mouth. She knelt in front of him, shaking hands hovering over his body, trying to find the wound, until his hand shot out and grabbed her tightly by the wrist. "This is yet to be." he rasped, in a voice completely unlike his own.

"I don't understand!" Emily cried, as the smell of smoke and burning flesh filled her senses. The thing that was Jacob opened it's mouth to speak, flames pouring out instead. Emily jumped backwards, trying to escape the heat, but the flames just grew, and grew, until she screamed herself awake. She was back on the cold floor, in the Sanctuary. Marge was snoring softly in one corner, wrapped tightly in a large quilt. Emily felt sick, the dream still flowing through her mind like ice. She reached out a hand to wake the woman, who snorted and grumbled, coming to quickly, looking about with wild eyes.

"What the fuck?" she asked.

"Something..." Emily started in an urgent whisper, "Something bad is going to happen! M-My friend, Josh, they sent him to an outpost, something terrible is going to happen there, please, someone's going to attack the outpost, I know, I just _know,_ we need to tell someone..." The words just poured out. Marge was staring at her like she was crazy, but nodded seriously when Emily had finished.

"Okay, okay." she said placatingly, "We'll tell someone, but not right now. Everyone's asleep, there isn't shit we can do about it tonight. Go back to sleep, and we'll tell them in the morning." She turned away from Emily, who just sat back, nodding to herself. After awhile, she made her way back to her own sleeping spot, and drifted into dreamless sleep.

~~~

Dusty morning light was filtering in through the open doorway, when a boot flashed out and caught Emily square in the chest. She blinked in confusion, coughing and clutching where she'd been struck. Above her loomed two armed men, and Marge.

"That's her," she was saying to the men, "That bitch knew about the attack. Probably working with the fuckers." Emily tried to draw breath to say _no, it was just a dream,_ but one of the men's fists flashed out, and everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

When Emily awoke, everything was black. She blinked furiously, rubbing at her eyes, which slowly adjusted thanks to a sliver of light coming from a gap beneath the door. Her head throbbed painfully, and she lay for a long while, in the dark, clutching it. She stretched, her body screaming at her for laying on the hard floor, and began feeling around her surroundings. She seemed to be in a small, concrete room, smooth and blank all over save for the ridges and hinges of the door.

Time passed, excruciatingly slow, uncountable and agonizing. Alone in the dark, Emily had no distractions from her own mind, and began to see the faces of the people she'd watched die, the people she'd lost in the chaos of the end. She felt like screaming, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes, when a sudden metallic clunk startled her upright. She turned her surprised face up just in time to be blinded by harsh fluorescent light. Holding a hand up to block the light, a large silouhette slowly formed. Icy fear shot down Emily's spine as the silouhette resolved into Negan- proud, tall, Lucille slung lazily over one shoulder. He just stared down at her for awhile, giving her a moment to compose herself.

"Now," he began slowly, "When I heard that we had a spy, someone with the balls to come into my house under false pretences, I gotta admit, I got a little excited. I couldn't wait to see the mastermind behind such unprecedented infiltration." He grinned. "But now, seeing you, I'm a little confused." He raised an eyebrow as Emily shook, still sitting, her face down turned to avoid eye contact. "Either this is some smooth as fuck performance on your part, or someone's seriously fucking with me." He just sighed and leaned against the wall, while Emily drew her knees up and hugged them. "Still doesn't answer the question- how the fuck did you know about the attack on our outpost last night, when I only found out about it this morning?"

Emily's heart throbbed with fear, "Josh," she blurted, "Is he okay?"

Negan's eyebrows shot up as he pondered the question, "Josh..." he repeated, "Oh. I remember. That new kid, came in the same time as you, right? Nah, he's pretty fuckin' far from okay. Whoever hit my outpost killed everyone inside. They even fucking killed the guys I sent to try and settle the whole situation, burned my shit, and fucked off before I could return the favour." Emily's face wobbled a bit. _Josh is dead,_ she thought, slumping back against the wall. "Now, why the fuck would you give a shit about all that, if you're working with those fuckers who killed my men?"

"I'm not working with them!" The words came out louder than Emily had intended, grief shifting seamlessly into rage. She quieted, struggling to get herself under control. "I'm not," she said, sighing, "It was just a dream. I just had a dream."

Silence stretched between them, Negan leaning back to consider her with narrowed eyes. "A dream, huh?" he said softly. Suddenly, he whistled, startling Emily, and a man rushed into view from the doorway. He was large, fat even, especially by today's standards, and he held a blanket and pillow in his hands. Negan motioned for him to give them to Emily, who accepted them in stunned silence, gratitude flooding her system. Negan turned to go, looking over one shoulder at her. "You tell me if you have any more dreams, alright?" And then the door was shut, leaving Emily in total darkness once more.

~~~

Emily slept, woke, slept again. Every so often the door would open and someone would slide a plate in, with rice, or stale bread. She felt like she was going crazy, alone like this. Sometimes she cried. She wanted to scream. Mostly, though, she sat in the dark, thinking about Josh, Paul, and her parents. She missed them.

One night, Emily didn't know how many days she'd been in this God-forsaken room, she had a particularly awful nightmare. Headlights flashed, and motors revved from all directions, closing in on her. Motorbikes swirled in and out of view, driving towards her as if they would crash right into her, then dissolving into smoke and passing through. Predatory smiling faces drew closer and closer, reaching out to her, until a blinding light disintegrated them. Orange flame exploded outwards, sending shadowy bits of the monsters flying in all directions, wisps of smoke billowing up from where they'd once been. The dream shifted, and Emily saw the face of the burned man, he was walking down shadowy train tracks, a crossbow slung over one shoulder. Two groups of people exchanged gun fire through the trees. Men fell, and died. Emily woke in a cold sweat, still alone, still trapped. A visceral scream of rage tore from her throat, and she stood, throwing herself against the door in primal fury. She kicked, kicked, _kicked,_ the solid metal door completely oblivious to her attempts to break it down. Just as she geared up for another furious kick, the door swung open, causing Emily to fly forward and tumble out into the hallway. Her hands barely came up in time to break her fall, and the rage subsided, replaced by fear and embarrassment. Someone was laughing softly behind her, and she lifted herself off the ground, turning back to see Negan standing beside the door, laughing at her.

"Shit, honey, I know you're excited to see me, but you can't just go around breaking things." He _tsked_ at her, shaking his head, eyes sparkling, tapping Lucille against the wall.

"I just..." Emily spluttered, unable to collect her thoughts, and started babbling, "I had a dream, something about uh, motorcycle gang or something, and then there was an explosion... then, the burned-face guy, he was fighting too, people were shooting at each other..." Negan had a horrible expression of barely restrained laughter on his face, mixed with a palpable disbelief. Emily shut up at the sight of it, picking herself up off the floor, recognizing suddenly how insane she must seem.

"Mhmm..." he said slowly, twirling Lucille in one hand. "I did come down here to try and talk to you, but I can see you're just bat-shit crazy." Iron hands gripped Emily's shoulders from behind, and she twisted slightly to see a large armed man behind her, holding her in place. "Still, I gotta figure out how the fuck you knew about that attack, and I'm not a big believer in coincidence." Negan motioned with his hand, and the man pushed Emily roughly back into the dark room, despite her feeble protests. The door shut with an awful clunk, and she was alone once more.

~~~

It couldn't've been more than a few hours before the door opened again, but it felt like days. Negan stood rigid in the doorway, staring down at Emily, his jaw working back and forth reflexively. He looked more serious than Emily had ever seen him, and she lowered her gaze instinctively, staring hard at the floor, wondering what punishment was coming. Negan just stared mutely before saying, "Get up, and come with me."


	7. Chapter 7

Emily was in an opulent sitting room- leather couches, plush rugs, polished dark wood furniture. It felt like an alien planet, after her time in the room especially, but even before the end she had never been in places like this. To add to the strangeness of it, women in black dresses milled about, in groups of two or three, eating fruits, or whispering, all of them staring at her. Emily looked down at her own ragged and stained clothing, she could tell that she stank, too, and curled in on herself a little, face burning with embarrassment. Negan sat opposite to her, leaning back in his chair, watching her squirm with barely restrained humour.

One of the females came up beside Negan, sliding her arms over his shoulders and leaning into him. He just grinned, "Wives," he said, "Emily." He nodded towards her. "Emily, wives." The unspoken question on everyone's minds lay heavy in the air. Negan answered it after a moment, "She's just staying with us for awhile. I want you all to take good care of her. I'm going to be gone for a bit, starting tomorrow." Emily mentally sighed with relief- Negan hadn't brought her here for _that._ She knew that rape was against the rules here, but someone like him, in a position of power, Emily wouldn't be surprised... Glancing around, the assembled women seemed pretty happy, as far as could be seen from an outsider's perspective. Emily couldn't see any bruises, at the very least. She relaxed a little.

It was about midday, Emily had lost all sense of time in the room, Negan soon took his leave, and Emily was left alone with the women. They all just stared at her, making Emily feel like she was being circled by hawks, until one of them came over and sat next to her. She was pretty, with red hair and a perfectly angular face.

"Hi, I'm Frankie." She held out a manicured hand for Emily to shake. She was looking Emily up and down critically, but not judgementally. "Why are you here?" It was blunt, but her tone was kind.

"Um... I'm not sure." Emily said, looking away.

Frankie just gave her a quizzical stare. "He didn't ask you to be his wife?"

"No."

"Hm." Frankie's eyes bored into Emily, trying to root out the mystery of her. After awhile she shook her head and stood. "Well, let's get you cleaned up, and then you can get a checkup from Dr. Carson."

An hour later, Emily was clean, in fresh clothing, sitting a chair in Dr. Carson's office after having been poked and prodded thoroughly. He had started her on a saline drip to help her dehydration, but his overall diagnosis was that she needed food and a good rest. He was about to let her go when he seemed to remember something, and went to rummage around in one of his drawers. He came back with a small cardboard package with some flowery writing on the front. Emily recognized it with some surprise as birth control.

"Here," he said, handing her the package. "Just standard procedure for any of Negan's new wives."

"I'm not one of his wives."

Dr. Carson looked puzzled. "No? But you'll be living in the upstairs rooms, correct?" Emily nodded, and the doctor gave her a strange, knowing smile. He patted her hand condescendingly, "That's alright. Take it anyway." He even winked. Emily was too stunned by the day's events to protest further. She exited the room, expecting to see Frankie outside waiting for her, but there was a new black-dressed girl instead. Emily tried and failed to remember if she had seen her amongst the others upstairs.

"Hi," the brown haired woman said, "I'm Sherry." Emily shook hands with her awkwardly. "Frankie had to go take care of something, I'll help you back upstairs." The pair walked through the complex together, Sherry leading the way. They took a different route than the one they'd come down, through an enclosed stairwell that was unguarded. Once the door had shut, Sherry turned on Emily, setting her heart thundering, but the woman just stared silently for a moment.

"Dr. Carson gave you the pill, didn't he?" she asked. Emily nodded. "Please," said Sherry, grabbing Emily's hand urgently. "Let me have it. You're not a wife, right? So you don't need it." Emily furrowed her brow, wondering at the implications of Sherry's request. Weren't all of Negan's wives already taking birth control? Staring into Sherry's wide eyes, however, she felt her heart crack a little. Fishing in her pocket, she produced the little cardboard package, and handed it over to Sherry, who immediately hugged her. "I knew I was right to ask. Thank you."


	8. Chapter 8

Negan was gone for quite some time after that. Emily was overwhelmed with her new freedom. There was very little she had to do each day. The wives had as much food as they could eat, electricity, and water delivered each morning. To fill the time, Emily worked on some sewing projects for the women, feeling a sense of accomplishment when she mended their favourite garments, the women praising her work excitedly. It was easy to fall into the comforts of the upper floors, and forget about the state of the workers downstairs, but Emily still thought about them from time to time, wondering why it should be that some had more than they could use, and others had next to nothing.

One morning, she was sitting in a chair beside one of the windows, hands clasped around a steaming mug of peppermint tea, when she noticed the trucks rolling in from the distance. Reflexively, she mumbled something, then cleared her throat and said louder, "He's back." One of the wives stopped what she was doing, looking up sharply and walking over to the window.

"I'll tell the others." She said after a moment, then hurried away. Emily continued to observe from her vantage point as the trucks passed through the gates and rolled to a stop in front of the doors. She leaned in towards the glass to get a better look, watching as the many Saviours who had gone to retaliate for the outpost killing filed off the truck. There, stepping down from the front seat of one of them, was the distinctive leather-clad form of Negan. He was speaking with Simon and some others.  
A strange looking man was tossed from the back of one truck. He looked rough like all the Saviours, but the others were beating him, kicking at him, sprays of gravel flying around the cluster of them. The burned man, Dwight, eventually broke it up, grabbing the stranger and hauling him inside, out of sight.

The wives were filing in, all having donned their black attire, milling about in quiet groups while they waited for Negan to enter. It was quite some time before he did, their faces all turning at once to watch him come into the room, sliding off his jacket, kissing some of them on the cheek. Emily wanted to melt into her spot on the couch, but Negan's eyes only glanced over at her for a second, then turned away. She breathed a sigh of relief as their leader retreated into the bedroom with a bottle of scotch and three wives- Frankie and Sherry among them. The collective sighed visibly as the door shut, the sound of feminine laughter and low voices filtering through the walls.

The others went about their business, some leaving back to their rooms, a few others staying to keep Emily company. As per Negan's instructions, Emily had been sleeping in this living room, a make shift bed made for her on the couch. She started sweating at the rise and fall of raucous conversation from the bedroom, worried about what the night might bring. She was playing cards with some of the kinder wives who had taken pity on her and stayed, and turned to one, Tanya.

"Do you have any alcohol?"

~~~

Some time later, Emily was waving goodbye to the wives as they took their leave, leaning against the doorframe as the world wobbled a bit. Her face was warm, a lopsided smile gracing her face. She turned and made her way towards her couch-bed, hoping that her plan would work, and she'd pass out quickly after laying down. The noises laughter from the bedroom had quieted down a little while ago, and Emily breathed a sigh of relief, settling down to sleep.

No sooner than when she'd pulled the blanket up to her face did she notice soft noises coming from the shut bedroom door. Her heart leapt into her throat as little thump-thumps reverberated through the silent air, soft moans increasing slightly in volume along with the pace. Instinctively, Emily covered her face with her hands, turning over to put her back towards the source of her embarrassment, just as her traitorous mind singled out the low male groaning that accompanied the other sounds. She felt her body flush, her shame mingling with excitement, her body reacting in spite of her protests. The moaning grew louder, the thrusts slowing, louder thumps punctuating each breathy moan, until the rhythm stopped, the moans quieting slowly into silence, soft voices exchanging inaudible language.

Emily nearly jumped out of her skin as the bedroom door flung open, the sudden volume of it shocking her system. She froze as heavy, confident footsteps moved across the tile towards the kitchen area. White light flooded the room as the refrigerator was opened, a clink of glass, the sound of water pouring. Emily cursed silently to herself, praying for the sudden and complete oblivion of sleep, as the footsteps moved slowly back towards the bedroom. She turned, trying to move invisibly slow, unable to keep her back towards the predator that stood looking out the window, bright moonlight filtering in between the curtains. He was sipping water out of a tall glass, naked from the waist up, loose-fitting grey sweatpants blessedly covering the rest of him. Emily shifted a little, wincing, but settled down, finally able to watch Negan from the corner of her eye. He looked pensive, face devoid of the usual smirk, or scowl, staring out at the deceptively serene wilds, into the fields of the dead. Emily felt her heart stop, seizing up in her chest, as Negan spoke aloud without warning.

"I know you're awake." he said, turning his head to smirk at her with that wolfish grin of his. Then, without another word, he headed back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind.


	9. Chapter 9

Emily didn't see Negan much the next day- he got up some time in the morning and went downstairs to help deal with things. Instead, she spent a lot of time with the wives, Frankie and Sherry in particular, following them as they went about their day, helping prepare meals. It gave her a sense of purpose, and got her out of that uncomfortably lavish room. Every time she passed the bedroom, she blushed with the memory of the noises.

Generally, Emily had avoided going downstairs, unable to face the mass of workers who she'd briefly lived among. She had a thought to bring Marge and the others some food. The wives told her she needed Negan's permission to do such a thing, but Emily was much too nervous to ask about it. One day, she was passing by the main work hall, her eyes meeting Marge's from across the room. The older woman wore a knowing smirk as if to say, _I knew you'd take the easy way out,_ the edge of hatred sharp around her grey eyes. Emily had hurried back upstairs, grateful for the sanctuary of the upper rooms, her blood bubbling with indignation at Marge's judgmental gaze.

Turning the corner, she saw Sherry coming out of Dr. Carson's office, looking distressed. Emily hurried over, giving the woman a silent, questioning glance, but she just shook her head. Emily said nothing, looking through the glass of the door, seeing the burned man and the strange newcomer together. The newcomer was pretty badly beaten, Emily noticed uncomfortably, and was being checked over by the doctor while the burned man watched. _Dwight,_ she reminded herself, _his name is Dwight._ It was hard to shake the memory of his branding, to resolve the image of a real person with the memory of the screams, the smell. Emily glanced at Sherry from the corner of her eye. She had gathered from the other wives that Sherry had been with Dwight, before the branding, but she didn't know the details of how or why things had changed, only that it was clear that Sherry still cared deeply for the man. A hand on her elbow brought her attention back, Sherry just nodded her head silently and motioned for Emily to go back upstairs. Unsure, she hesitated, but continued on her way after a moment. Whatever was happening between those two didn't need to involve Emily. Except, she _had_ given Sherry the birth control, and would again soon when the next pack came. Emily shivered, crossing her arms over her chest, and hurried back upstairs.

It wasn't until late that night that she saw Negan. She wondered what he did in a day. He looked tired, at least, the wives standing quickly and moving over to him, to take his coat, offer him food. Emily stayed where she was on her couch, imagining it to be an island surrounded by deep ocean. Negan chatted and laughed with his wives, the group of them gathering around a large dinner table, the women setting out their meal. Emily sat in increasing discomfort, picking at an errant thread in her sweater, as everyone took their places at the dinner table. She stood, ready to flee downstairs, when an elaborate clearing of the throat turned her back around. Negan was staring at her expectantly.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he said, words harsh but tone light. He snapped his fingers, pointing to an empty seat at the table, and raised his eyebrows. Not having much choice, Emily crept over, settling lightly into the chair. People had begun serving up, the wide array of fresh foods making Emily's mouth water. Even pre-fall dried goods like pasta were present. Swallowing, she resolved to try her best to enjoy this.

The meal was, in truth, pleasant. Negan told quite a few raunchy but hilarious jokes, Emily found herself laughing along with the others despite her nervousness. Once the last dishes had been cleared away, Negan selected a wife to take to bed with him that night, the others saying their farewells and retiring to their own rooms. Emily sat on the couch, awkwardly twirling her pillow in her hands, while Negan and his wife laughed in low voices at the table, their legs touching, her hand playing up and down his thigh. She breathed a sigh of relief as the pair finally made their way to the bedroom, settling down into her bed. It sure beat sleeping on the cold ground, awkward noises or not. Emily tried to focus on gratitude for what she did have, for being alive at all. Low murmurs drifted in and out from the bedroom, almost soothing, and Emily fell into a light sleep quickly.

A loud smack of flesh-on-flesh jolted her awake, her eyes flying open, nearly falling off the couch before she thought better of it, trying to arrange her tense body into something that could pass for a sleeping form. She trembled, waiting with held breath, while she listened to the angry back and forth coming from the bedroom.

"I can't believe you'd even ask me that!" came a woman's voice, "I'm not your whore!" Emily buried her face in her pillow, heart racing. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the bedroom door flung open. Negan's wife stormed out, disheveled, carrying her shoes, face red with anger. A second later, Negan emerged, leaning against the doorframe and clutching his cheek with a lopsided grin, watching her leave with a moony, lovestruck air. He sighed audibly as the door out to the hall slammed shut, and shook out the white t-shirt he held, pulling it down over his head. Emily felt his gaze pass over her, and tried to slow her breathing, feigning sleep. Her heart beat faster as he padded barefoot over to her couch, staring down at her. She lay frozen, like a rabbit in a trap, forgetting to breathe at all as he lowered himself, crouching down beside her face buried in the pillow.

Knowing there was no way he she could trick him, she turned her face to look at him, their eyes meeting in the dark room. Electricity passed between them, and she looked away again- she never made eye contact for long. He just chuckled, low, the earthy sound of it seeming louder in the quiet night air. When she'd taken a deep breath and looked back, his face was closer, moving even closer to her's. She was too stunned to do anything as his lips brushed hers, light, questioning, before pressing harder into her. His lips were incredibly soft, his mouth tasted like whisky and mint and something undefinably male. Her mouth parted of it's own accord, inviting him inside, and he leaned in further, crushing into her, his rough stubble rasping against her skin, his tongue moving to explore her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed, her own tongue tentatively brushing against his, until his uncontrollable grin broke the kiss, tongues retreating to their respective mouths. He lay his face against hers for another moment, his rough, grinning cheek pressing into hers, before withdrawing and straightening up. Blessedly, he didn't speak, merely turned around and walked slowly back to the bedroom, shutting it quietly behind him. Emily let out a fluttering sigh, stuffing her face back into the pillow with red-hot embarrassment. _Stupid,_ she thought miserably, _you're so stupid._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've wanted to do this for awhile, but wanted to wait until the season was finished to attempt it. I hope you like it, please forgive my intermittent updates!


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